


A Hallmark Holiday

by bookwyrmling



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Family Drama, Fluff, Holidays, Homophobia, M/M, Misunderstandings, but not really, ignoring how Problematic the holiday actually is, references to Obama's turkey puns, so much food, tennis instead of football, yes a turkey is pardoned here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 13:17:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8715496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookwyrmling/pseuds/bookwyrmling
Summary: Tezuka comes to America to join his boyfriend’s family for Thanksgiving dinner.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SolosOrca](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SolosOrca/gifts).



> So, over a year ago, SolosOrca commented on Tumblr how much she'd love to see a TezuRyo Thanksgiving fic, but didn't have the knowledge to write it as she was from the UK. Taking the task upon myself, I procrastinated horrendously and only finished this the weekend after this year's Thanksgiving.
> 
> Anyway, the goal was to fit as many Thanksgiving/holiday tropes as possible into this fic.
> 
> Originally posted to Tumblr.

Nanjiroh leaned against the glass walls that lined the exit of LAX’s Tom Bradley International terminal and sighed. It was as crowded as ever, as noisy as ever and yet his son, rather than avoid it all, stood with rapt attention on the customs exit.

Sure enough, an hour after Lufthansa flight 452 touched ground, tennis professional Tezuka Kunimitsu slipped around the corner and up to the two of them.

“Ryoma,” the man greeted with a slight softening around his mouth that could not really be called a smile but still managed to take off a few of the false years that made him appear more of Nanjiroh’s contemporary than his son’s. “Kunimitsu,” Ryoma greeted with a sly smirk and Nanjiroh clucked his tongue. “Alright, alright,” he broke into the two young adults’ reunion as he scratched at his head, “Let’s go. If we don’t get out soon, I’ll have to pay for a whole extra hour of parking and traffic’s gonna be a bitch this time of day.”

“Calm down, old man, it’s not like I’m gonna kiss him in the middle of the airport,” Ryoma rolled his eyes and Nanjiroh’s face just about turned purple. “Why Thanksgiving, I don’t even know,” he muttered as he led his son and son’s guest to the parking lot and the waiting car, “Not even American…”

“If he married me, he could be,” Ryoma continued to tease his father as he followed side by side with Tezuka, shouldering his tennis bag while the German player carted his own checked luggage.

“Young man, you are seventeen! Seventeen, you hear me? A minor. And far too young to be talking marriage,” Nanjiroh whirled around on the boy who only frowned and raised an eyebrow. “And if I were talking about a girl?” he challenged. “Too young!” was all Nanjiroh replied as he walked up the rest of the row and unlocked the car.

“Only for another month,” Ryoma muttered in turn and Tezuka sighed. “Perhaps it would be better not to tease him too much?” he asked and Ryoma sulked. “If he wasn’t acting like such an idiot…” the younger of the two murmured with downcast eyes and Tezuka brushed his hand across the small of his boyfriend’s back – a quick and small gesture, but a comforting one all the same. “That’s why we decided it’d be good for me to come, right?” Tezuka amended and Ryoma gave the man a long look before nodding acquiescence.

———-

The traffic truly was horrendous. The 105 was backed up because of the 405. The 405 was stop and go the whole way – mostly stop – to the 10 and the 10 was pretty slow going, as well. Looking at it on the map on Ryoma’s phone, Tezuka wondered if they could have simply walked the whole way in less time, but that, apparently, was easier said than done. When they hit the hills off of Pacific Coast Highway, Tezuka understood why. It was not so bad with the windows rolled up and the air conditioning on, but Tezuka certainly would not want to be out climbing hills this steep in this heat, especially not with luggage.

How was it this hot in November? If he were to guess, the young man would place it over 30 degrees.

The house they pulled up to was one that sprawled out along the first level, with a large front yard filled with partially yellowing grass and palm trees of all sorts. The neighbor had a bunch of citrus trees in their front yard, branches heavy with lemons and oranges and limes and the hills continued even higher up above them, brown with dry brush save for lines of green that marked the road and houses and manicured yards lined along it.

“Alright, everyone out,” Nanjiroh groused, “I’m done playing chauffeur. And, brat, you tell your mother I did my job and kept my thoughts to myself.” Rinko had threatened his magazines – his special edition, Japanese gravure magazines he was not able to get so easily anymore after moving back to America – if he toed too far out of line this weekend.

“But did you really?” Ryoma questioned as he shouldered Tezuka’s tennis bag once more.

“I got him here and in one piece, didn’t I?” Nanjiroh pointed out before locking the car and slipping inside.

“He wouldn’t hurt you,” Ryoma confirmed with a grin, “You’re too good at tennis. It’d be a waste.” Even if it was a joke, Tezuka found it slightly discomforting that his safety even required confirmation. Had Ryoma not been as honest about how his father was taking their relationship as he had thought? Tezuka knew it was not particularly well, but…

“Oh, Tezuka-kun, you’ve arrived!”

Tezuka looked up and nodded a greeting at the matriarch of the family as he stepped into the air conditioned house and out of the dry heat that made it hard to breathe. “It’s good to see you again, Echizen-sensei,” he greeted cordially, already expecting the disappointed frown on the woman’s face. “How many times have I told you? You’re family,” she scolded before patting Tezuka’s shoulder and cheek. It was refreshing and reaffirming after the tension in the car with her husband.

“Rinko-san,” Tezuka tried once more with a small, polite smile that Rinko was more than happy to return. “Much better,” she approved before eyeing Ryoma and the luggage behind him. “I tried to get Ryoma to set up the guest room before you arrived,” she spoke on while giving a scolding look to her son, “you must be exhausted. I’ll have him do it now, so take your shoes off and have a seat. Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“To be honest, I’ve been sitting for too long, already,” Tezuka declined, “And they never stopped feeding us on the flight, so I’m pretty full, though I do appreciate the offer. I’ll help Ryoma set up the room, instead, if that is alright.”

“Just don’t let him give you all the work. He’s been lazy since Barclays.”

“It’s my vacation. I start training back up for Australia in two weeks,” Ryoma grumbled, arms behind his head and eyes drifting off to the side, “Besides, Kunimitsu can just stay in my room.”

“And where do you plan on sleeping then, young man?” Nanjiroh imposed as he slipped through the group to reach for a beer from the fridge, “Because you sure as hell won’t be sleeping with him.”

“And why not?” Ryoma asked but before the situation could escalate again, Tezuka cleared his throat. “The guest room sounds like a good room.”

“It looks out over the hills and, on a good day, you can see a bit of the ocean,” Rinko added, working with Tezuka to quell the oncoming argument between father and son, “I’m certain you’ll appreciate it, Tezuka-kun.” The two share grateful glances while Ryoma and Nanjiroh glare, but at least no more is said. Instead, there is the pop and hiss of a beer can being opened and bare footsteps as Nanjiroh retreats to the living room where track laughter tells of a sitcom on the television.

“The sheets are folded on the bed,” Rinko informed with a warning look at her son before shooing the two boys off.

“Dinner will be ready in two hours.”

———-

“Didn’t we just say it’d be best not to push him?” Tezuka sighed as he fanned the fitted sheet out over the full-size bed. Ryoma set the tennis bag down in the closet and leaned against the wall.

“There’s nothing wrong with us sharing a room or bed,” the younger male argued in frustration, hands jammed into his pockets and brim of his hat hiding what Tezuka knew to be hotly burning eyes. He slipped the corners around the mattress with a troubled frown, an easy but temporary silence falling between them during the process, before turning around to Ryoma once the sheet was in place and pulling the hat off his head.

The two stared each other down, but it did not last long as Ryoma bit at the inside of his lip and looked away, his head and eyes dropping. Tezuka sighed. “Antagonizing him like this is only going to make the situation worse,” he reminded, leaning down to press his forehead against Ryoma’s, their free hands sliding together and fingers twining.

He could feel the moment the tension and aggression left, a deep exhale, not quite a sigh, puffing against his chin and chest only moments before lips pressed against his own. Finally, a chance for hello. Tezuka pressed back. Finally, a chance for I missed you. It had not been long since Barclays, where they had last met – only a week – but tournaments were so fast-paced and jam-packed with practice and competition and interviews that, even then, the two had little time to simply enjoy each other's’ company. Fingers loosened and hands released. Ryoma’s arms slipped around Tezuka’s waist. Tezuka’s hands settled on Ryoma’s shoulders, one finger raising up to brush against his jaw, lazy and unassuming.

“You’re tired?” Ryoma asked once the kiss broke.

“I am,” Tezuka admitted, “It was a long flight.”

“Wrong time zone, too,” Ryoma added, his fingers playing with the tail of Tezuka’s shirt.

“Yes,” Tezuka agreed as he buried his head in Ryoma’s neck.

“You should probably finish making that bed, then.”

Tezuka froze, feeling the suppressed laughter in the slight shake of Ryoma’s shoulders before standing back up and raising an eyebrow at him. “I was specifically told not to let you get away without helping,” Tezuka reminded his boyfriend as he clapped the hat back onto his head.

“Yeah, but you’re going to anyway.”

Tezuka could not help the small smile that slipped through at the sight of the smirk peeking out from beneath the cap’s bill. He turned back to the bed and picked up a pillow and pillowcase before sending them flying behind him.

“Oof!”

Tezuka’s small smile returned. He’d hit his mark.

“You make up the pillows,” he said as he grabbed the top sheet and flapped it out over the mattress, “I’ll get the rest.”

———-

“Oh, look, there it is,” Rinko pointed out with a small laugh as the family sat in the living room after dinner for a drink of choice before bed. The news had been droning in the background, a muted white noise below the sporadic conversation driven mostly by Rinko until a sulking Nanjiroh had been pulled in by talk of tennis.

Three other faces turned to the television set to see the President on screen with a turkey and Tezuka blinked because it was apparently a press conference about the turkey. His brow furrowed as his mind worked to keep up with the fluid English, but at the laughter coming from the press at some of the President’s comments, the young man knew he had to be missing some of the point if not all of it.

“It’s one of Mom’s favorite parts of Thanksgiving,” Ryoma muttered with a roll of his eyes as he nudged his elbow against Tezuka’s arm, “He’s pardoning the turkey.”

Tezuka’s brows furrowed deeper at that. “Pardoning?”

“A turkey is selected every year and presented to the President,” Rinko explained, “The President then holds a press conference, like this, where he pardons the bird. Instead of becoming someone’s dinner, he goes to live out his life on a farm. Well, this is just a recap, though. The actual thing was earlier today.”

“However short that life is,” Nanjiroh muttered from her side as he finished his beer and dropped the can back onto the coffee table. “It’s a turkey. It’s supposed to be food,” he argued before pointing to Tezuka, “Don’t worry if you don’t get it, kid, cuz none of us do.”

“It’s about the symbolism,” Rinko argued, “A show of mercy and goodwill to start off the holiday season and it’s a very important lesson.”

“It’s a turkey,” Nanjiroh argued again. His mind had not been changed so far on the matter and it would not change this year, either.

Tezuka’s attention turned back to the television screen as a flash of color grabbed his eye to see tarps spread out on the ground being inflated before the scene cut to a street Tezuka identified as New York, thanks to his time spent there each year for the US Open, with people dressed warm and camping out on roped-off sidewalks. And then it jumped to helmets facing each other and a news anchor and clips of American football and, while Rinko and Nanjiroh were still arguing over the importance of a pardoned turkey, Ryoma stood up and dragged Tezuka with him.

“You each go to your OWN ROOMS ALONE,” Nanjiroh warned the departing boys before turning right back to his argument about using an animal that was bred and raised specifically to be eaten.

Down the hall, in front of Ryoma’s room, the two squeezed hands goodnight before Tezuka continued to his door. “I could sneak in when they’re asleep,” Ryoma offered with a waggle of his eyebrows, but Tezuka shook his head.

“Good night, Ryoma.” The doors to both rooms shut shortly after and, back in the living room, Nanjiroh nodded and Rinko sighed her exasperation. 

\-----

Ryoma yawned and stretched and groaned. He wanted to shove his head back under the pillow and ignore the blaring BEEPBEEPBEEP of his alarm clock, but as much as the teen still hated mornings, he could at least force himself up when he needed to. While Ryoma could not call today a need, he could certainly consider it a want, so, with yet another groan, he slammed his hand out onto the clock and mashed at every button and switch until the noise stopped.

Peace.

But before he could accidentally allow himself to slip back to sleep, he pushed himself up off his stomach – Karupin jumping down to the floor at having his nest between the boy’s legs disturbed – and shifted to sit at the edge of the bed where he yawned and stretched again. Rubbing his eyes, Ryoma forced himself to his feet and shuffled to his bedroom door. Karupin weaved through his legs and, the moment the door was open wide enough, shot through to escape.

Down the hall, Ryoma could hear some clattering in the kitchen and knew his mother was already at work for the Thanksgiving feast she always enjoyed preparing. He slipped further down the hall to the guest room and quietly turned the handle and opened the door to see Tezuka still sleeping as Ryoma had hoped he would be. While the older man woke earlier than this on a daily basis, he had jetlag and a severe time difference working against him today.

Half of Ryoma wanted to slip under the covers behind Tezuka, press up against his back and fall back asleep. The other half knew that was not what he had come in here for. While his father’s reaction would make it worth it, Tezuka would be disappointed at him having baited the old man again. With a sigh, Ryoma tiptoed across the hardwood floor and leaned over to stare Tezuka in the sleeping face.

Slowly, carefully, quietly, Ryoma raised his fingers up, centimeters away from his boyfriend’s forehead. “Kunimitsu,” he spoke, his voice still thick and groggy, “Wake-up or I’ll flick you.” A hand shot up from under the sheet and grabbed hold of Ryoma’s hand, pulling it down and drawing Ryoma’s face closer as Tezuka finally opened bleary eyes and blinked the confusion of a heavy sleep away.

“Glasses?” Ryoma asked as he snatched them from the nightstand and Tezuka groaned their necessity before rolling onto his back, forgetting he was holding Ryoma’s hand and tugging the boy’s torso across his body and the bed. He rubbed at his eyes, scraping the sleep away and Ryoma snorted. “I thought we weren’t trying to trigger the old man,” he teased and Tezuka looked at him in confusion for several moments before realizing the position the two were in. He immediately released Ryoma’s wrist but the younger teen stayed there, reaching up to place Tezuka’s glasses on his face first – with Tezuka’s help after he nearly poked his eye out with his first attempt – before pushing himself back up and off the bed.

“What time is it?”

Ryoma smirked because Tezuka’s voice was just as thick with sleep as his own, though Tezuka seemed intent on clearing his throat and waking up now that he could see and was more aware of his surroundings. “Six,” Ryoma replied, the word stretching out into a yawn, before tugging the blankets down, “Hurry before it starts.”

Tezuka had no clue what was starting, but if Ryoma was awake at six in the morning for it, it had to be important. Considering it was now Thanksgiving, maybe it was some morning ritual? All Tezuka had ever known of the holiday was that there was a turkey dinner and family and in a movie he had seen, people went around the table saying what they were most thankful for. Considering the President had, just yesterday, pardoned a turkey – two turkeys technically – Tezuka was absolutely certain there were intricacies to this holiday he was not yet aware of. Apparently this morning was another one.

Ryoma did not even let him dress, dragging Tezuka down the hall and to the living room, both of them in pajamas, before pushing him onto the couch and sitting next to him. Remote in hand, Ryoma turned on the television and found the appropriate channel where cameras trained on New York streets crowded with people and two newscasters chattered about good weather and sponsors.

Setting the volume at a comfortably low level – just enough to be heard, but not loud enough to bother anyone else – Ryoma set the remote down and leaned against Tezuka, closing tired eyes and ready to melt back to sleep.

MACY’S THANKSGIVING DAY PARADE scrolled across the screen, a cranberry colored background with gold font and Tezuka suddenly realized what Ryoma had woken him up early for. “You’re not going to watch?” he asked and Ryoma shook his head.

“Don’t care,” he muttered, eyes remaining closed, “Tired.”

Tezuka frowned his concern, fingers reaching up and around to brush dark bangs off his boyfriend’s forehead, “Then why get up so early for it?”

Ryoma peeked open one golden eye. “You like dorky traditions, right?” he mumbled while cocooning himself deeper into Tezuka’s side, “Just watch or I’ll turn it off and go back to bed on my own.”

Tezuka’s attention happily returned to the screen where a marching band was leading two giant inflatable yellow stars and a giant turkey float down 34th Street, his arm kept wrapped comfortably around Ryoma’s already dozing form.

—–

Thirty minutes later, Rinko trudged out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on an apron. “I get excited for doing this every year until I actually start,” she laughed to Tezuka, smiling and shaking her head at her sleeping son before turning to watch a Paddington Bear larger than the very room they sat in float between New York skyscrapers on the screen.

“When Ryoma was little, he used to love watching the parade.”

Tezuka’s attention shifted from the screen – where Rinko’s was – to the woman, herself.

“He’d wake up almost as early as I did just to make sure he did not miss a single second,” Rinko reminisced as she watched the Radio City Rockettes start up a performance number. Her smile was soft, one of those barely there crinkles to the corners of her eyes and lips that told of far more love than any words would. “Sometimes,” she told Tezuka confidentially, her eyes lit mischievously enough to tell Tezuka where Ryoma got that trait from, “I even got him to help me with the prep work; this lazy child of mine.” Tezuka shook his head in disapproval, but his eyes crinkled even if his mouth remained straight. “If you need any help-” he offered, but Rinko simply shook her head.

“I’ve got it all under control. Tezuka-kun, this is your first Thanksgiving, so sit back and enjoy it,” Rinko ordered with a grin, “I know Ryoma is very glad to have you here.”

“Echizen-senshu not so much,” he offered and Rinko shook her head in disapproval this time.

“He likes you just fine, Tezuka-kun,” she frowned and sighed in long-suffered frustration, “It’s an issue he has to work through for himself. He’s just being stubborn. As usual.”

“Ryoma isn’t helping much,” Tezuka reminded her as his gaze dropped to the fall of black hair against his chest.

“They’re too much alike,” Rinko agreed with a nod and a smile before shaking out the dish towel she held on to. “I have a pie to return to, but, Tezuka-kun, if you’d like some breakfast, I’ve put cereal, bowls and spoons on the table and there is milk in the fridge.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tezuka thanked her with a nod of his head, but so long as Ryoma remained in deep repose against him, Tezuka had no plans in moving in any way that could disturb him. Rinko rolled her eyes and grinned before leaving the two boys, seeming quite aware and understanding of Tezuka’s decision.

—–

Ryoma awoke two hours later with a yawn and a stretch and, as he settled in deeper against Tezuka, a sound of content that the older tennis pro almost wanted to call a purr. “Was it good,” the young prodigy asked through a yawn and Tezuka nodded his head. “The performances were varied and entertaining,” he explained and Ryoma hummed in pleasure at his success as the two watched the last half-hour of the parade together, waiting until Santa and his sleigh were out of sight and even the credits rolling over a dispersing crowd faded to sponsors and advertisements.

“Is there something else on?” Tezuka asked, wondering if Thanksgiving continued to be an all-day celebration but Ryoma shook his head no as he finally sat back up, grabbed the remote and turned the television off.

“It’s all football now,” he explained, “Boring.”

“The game can be quite fast-paced-” Tezuka began to disagree only for Ryoma to shake his head once again as he stood and stretched.

“Not soccer,” he corrected, “football. ‘Sides, the old man will probably wake up soon, so we should eat.”

“Before he wakes up?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, he’s a monster who goes straight into tennis, but he’s an idiot, too, so…” Ryoma shrugged and walked into the kitchen, returning shortly with a gallon of milk.

Cereal. Tezuka remembered Rinko telling him breakfast would be there if he was hungry, but his mind had gone to Thanksgiving dinner already. He could smell something savory baking and there was a strong hint of spices in the air, as well. While he had not noticed it earlier, focused as he was on the parade and its performances or the way Ryoma was snuggled warm against his side and would sigh in his sleep whenever Tezuka ran his fingers up and down the boy’s arm, the growing smell of a feast was now laying heavy and warm on the air. His stomach rumbled and he sat down to breakfast.

“Don’t eat too much,” Ryoma warned as he made himself a large bowl of Frosted Mini Wheats, “You definitely don’t want to go into Thanksgiving dinner anything but starving.” Ryoma took a few bites as Tezuka made himself a moderate bowl of Cheerios. “Make sure you eat enough to last at least two matches, though,” Ryoma added as he poured more cereal into Tezuka’s bowl, “We’re basically gonna play until food’s ready.” Tezuka stared warily at his large bowl, threatening to spill, but took Ryoma’s words for it and began to eat. It was not like he had to race through the bowl to the bottom. They had at least until Nanjiroh was awake and ready before tennis started, it sounded like.

—–

Tezuka grabbed the hem of his shirt and tugged it up, wiping the dripping sweat off his face before slipping his glasses back on. He could already feel the sweat trickling down his temples again. His breath came in huffs as he pulled a ball from his shorts. It was always an experience playing Echizen Nanjiroh in tennis. Even though he was now a pro, Tezuka still lost far more games than he won. But the fact that he did sometimes win was enough to catch the older Echizen’s sincere attention and efforts every time they did play.

But was November really such a hot month here in California? Back in Germany, Tezuka had already pulled out his coats for the winter. Here, it was only his appreciation for propriety that kept his shirt on while Nanjiroh stood bare chested and barefooted on the other side of the court where heat made the lines waver and float. A lot of Tezuka’s precision play had been sealed because he could not tell exactly where the line lay.

This was their third set of the match and Tezuka had finally managed to bring it to set point after losing the last two to Echizen Nanjiroh’s absurd play and sheer power. His zone had been destroyed in the first half of the first set, but now he had studied enough and exhausted the man enough that he could slowly whittle away at the scoreboard.

“You can do it, Kunimitsu,” Ryoma cheered from the shaded porch, barechested, his sweat-soaked polo laying out to dry beside him and feet shoved into a bucket of cool water. Golden eyes glowed as he watched the competition and sucked down yet another can of ice cold grape Ponta. “We’ll play next,” he added and Tezuka’s smirk matched Ryoma’s own. Maybe after an ice bath. Right now, the elder Echizen was taking all of his attention and effort to defeat.

“Hey hey!” Nanjiroh called from across the court, tapping his racket against his bare feet to knock off some of the dirt, “We’re still in the middle of our match over here. Now come back and serve before you default, Germany.”

Tezuka took a deep breath in and out, set his shoulders and did just that.

—–

When Ryoma had told Tezuka to come to the dinner table starving, he had not been lying. The dining table currently groaned under the weight of the food as platters and bowls of buttery mashed potatoes and velvety gravy, bright yellow corn, crisp salad, steaming rolls and stuffing, some creamy green mess Ryoma told him was green bean casserole and a sticky orange and toasted white mess Rinko called candied yams were placed into any open space they would fit. In the middle of it all, the golden crowned glory, sat a turkey large enough to feed a small army – or a middle school tennis team, at least.

Rinko had been the one to call tennis to a close with stern words and a stern face after Tezuka had fallen to Nanjiroh at two sets to three and he was ahead by one game in his first set against Ryoma. The three men had been marched inside and to their bedrooms, Nanjiroh disappearing to the master’s en suite while Tezuka and Ryoma alternated use of the guest bathroom.

Tezuka could honestly say a cold shower had never been so much of a blessing in his entire life.

But now he was sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner with the Echizen family, starched and ironed shirt tucked into creased trousers and a carefully knotted tie pressing against his throat. Tezuka wished he could blame it on his difficulty breathing and not the way Ryoma’s father was staring at him as he turned on the electric carving knife.

Things had been normal through the afternoon – even better. Tennis had been easy and simple. There had been no animosity on the court, simply a solid respect between talented opponents. Even when Ryoma had felt the need to interrupt gameplay to flirt with his boyfriend, Nanjiroh had simply grumbled about the line judge fraternizing with one of the players being cheating. It had been playful, if anything, and Tezuka had believed that maybe progress was finally being made.

But some time between the last serve of the day and now they had apparently returned to the beginning and he was glad to feel Ryoma’s pinky reach out and tangle with his own.

It was a transitory presence at best and soon all four individuals at the table had hands full with platters and tongs and serving spoons as they passed around dish after dish and Tezuka watched the white china in front of him disappear under the colorful combination of garnet cranberry sauce, neon yams, emerald green beans and golden corn. Gravy flooded and soaked into his roll thanks to an unsteady hand from Ryoma and his turkey had balsamic vinaigrette on it as food began to pile up after he ran out of plate surface. Any time he thought to pass on a dish for the time being, Ryoma would make sure to give him an extra large helping of it and Tezuka could pass a dish on easily enough but it would be rude to say no to an offered serving.

He sighed and wondered if he would even be able to move after finishing half his plate. There were still the pies he could see cooling on the kitchen counter through the doorway on the opposite wall.

What was Thanksgiving?!

“Since we have Tezuka-kun with us, I thought we should do something a little different and all share one thing we are thankful for,” Rinko broke the clangor of creaking chairs and clinking servingware that had filled the silence. No one had yet to take a bite, but Nanjiroh had been in the middle of spearing piece of turkey breast on his fork and blinked at his wife before sending a sidelong glance at Tezuka.

“There is no need to change anything for my presence,” Tezuka demurred, “I came here to join your family for Thanksgiving, not make you adjust to my presence.”

“You’re not making us do anything,” Rinko waved off his protestations, “I want to do this every year and they always dig right in. This year we have company experiencing his first Thanksgiving, so it will be my win.” Her smile dropped as she eyed her husband and son, staring them into submission. “Understood?”

Ryoma nodded and Nanjiroh’s silverware clattered as he set them down and harrumphed. “For cultural enlightenment,” he finally allowed, staring down the end of his nose at the guest. Rinko smiled brightly and winked at Tezuka and he gave a beleaguered quirk of his eyebrows in reply.

“I’ll start first, then, and we’ll go counter-clockwise,” Rinko decided with the same large grin and Tezuka heard and, out of the corner of his eye, saw, Ryoma slump into his chair. Nanjiroh crossed his arms over his chest and snorted because this meant he would have to go last.

But no one argued.

“I am grateful for my family,” she began, reaching her hand out and clasping it over Nanjiroh’s. “For my husband,” she continued, her gaze and smile slipping to Ryoma, “my son and our family back in Japan.” She turned to Tezuka with the self-same smile then and added, “And for Tezuka, who had the chance to join us this year. We are so glad to have you with us, as a part of our family.”

Tezuka did his best to ignore the dismissive, “tch,” coming from the other end of the table, but Ryoma could not. Slapping heavy hands onto the table – causing a loud shudder and clatter of dishes and servingware – Ryoma stood and glared down at his father, Nanjiroh cleaning one of his ears out with his pinky, relaxing comfortably into his chair as if uninvolved in the situation.

“What’s your problem, shitty old man?”

“That is no way to talk to your father, young man,” Nanjiroh bit a sharp reminder.

Ryoma snorted. “I’ll talk to you the way you deserve,” he said in return but before either could say any more, Rinko cut in.

“Boys!”

There was instant silence as both Ryoma and Nanjiroh turned to Rinko.

“Sit down,” Rinko warned and Ryoma did so as Najiroh leaned back into his own seat.

“Ryoma, you do not speak to your father like that.”

Before Ryoma could say argue and before Nanjiroh’s smirk could even settle in, Rinko turned to her husband, as well. “Nanjiroh, I had honestly expected far better of you and since you two can’t seem to resolve this yourselves, we will sit here – without eating – until you talk. If the food goes cold or soggy, you can eat it that way. Tezuka-kun, I’m sorry it had to happen this way, but it’s probably best you are here.”

Tezuka, who had reached over and twined fingers with Ryoma, nodded, his face all tense lines and angles, his shoulders tense, his legs wound up and ready to pull Ryoma away or behind him if things grew too tense.

Ryoma, on the other hand, seemed as happy to be forced into this situation as his father and he squeezed Tezuka’s hands before turning his face away from the man. “I don’t need or want to hear what he has to say.”

“Ryoma…” Rinko began, only to be interrupted by another outburst from her son – this one as defensive as his previous one was offensive.

“No! Neither Tezuka or me has to listen! Just because I fall in love with a guy doesn’t mean-”

“Ha!” Nanjiroh crowed. “You think this is about liking men? Look, kid, it might not be my preference,” he shrugged before eyeing Tezuka with a confused grimace, “I certainly don’t understand it – but if that’s what does it for you…”

“Nanjiroh,” Rinko was quick to scold at her husband’s lecherous remarks, “not at the table.”

Nanjiroh sighed and scratched at his chest. “Look, brat, I don’t care if you like girls or guys or whatever, don’t get me wrong. Your preferences are your preferences. That’s got nothing to do with anyone but you and your partner.”

Tezuka looked at Ryoma and was glad to see he was not the only one stunned at that declaration. This whole time, the past year since they had come out to Ryoma’s parents, they had thought Nanjiroh’s issue lay in Tezuka’s gender, but if that wasn’t it – and the relieved smile on Rinko’s face suggested she had known that was not the case – then what was it?

“Then why do you hate me dating Kunimitsu so much?”

Tezuka squeezed Ryoma’s hand in solidarity, glad one of them was able to voice the question they now both shared. Tezuka feared it was his age. Two years was not a lot, but he was an adult while Ryoma was technically still a minor – though, in that case, there was only one more month before Ryoma was an adult. Was there something else?

“Tennis,” Nanjiroh stated simply and Tezuka’s head jerked at that.

“We never let our relationship mess with our game,” Ryoma argued and Nanjiroh nodded his agreement.

“Even in practice matches, you two have a healthy competition that drives you both to improve,” he agreed, “But that’s not what I was talking about.”

“Then what?” Ryoma spat in annoyance and Tezuka squeezed a warning into Ryoma’s fingers. They did not need this escalating when calm discussion could finally resolve the situation. As much as he knew this discussion should include him, however, he simply did not know how to enter.

“Everything for the both of you right now is tennis,” Nanjiroh pointed out, “You’re both training and playing almost year round.”

“Because we’re professional athletes,” Ryoma ground out through gritted teeth, trying to hold back as much of his annoyance at his father pointing out the obvious as possible.

“When you meet up outside of tournaments, you play tennis for fun. You met because he was captain in your tennis club-” Nanjiroh continued as if his son had not even spoken.

“And if we hadn’t met then, my tennis wouldn’t have grown as much as it did,” Ryoma pointed out, still not seeing the point. Tezuka thought he might be able to.

Nanjiroh shot an annoyed glance at his son at the interruption before closing his eyes and drove home his point, “What happens without tennis?”

“Echizen-senshu,” Tezuka finally found himself speaking out, releasing his hold on Ryoma’s hand to rest it on his shoulder.

“You have got to learn to drop those formalities at some point, kid,” Nanjiroh replied while cleaning out his ear with his pinky.

“Perhaps I will when I feel we are close enough to warrant it,” Tezuka struck back, causing the older man to pause in his ministrations and stare curiously his way. It was a rude comment to make to his boyfriend’s father, but right now Tezuka did not feel the need to hold any of his punches. “Perhaps all the misunderstandings on everyone’s ends could have been resolved much sooner if you had brought up your concerns. Your silent disapproval led to your son believing you did not accept him for who he was, me believing the man I love was in possible danger in his own home and you believing neither of us were serious in this relationship.”

Nanjiroh’s jaw dropped. Ryoma’s eyes widened as he looked Tezuka’s way, as well. Tezuka kept his shoulders squared under the entire family’s gaze, modulating his breath as he continued. “With my experiences with my arm, I know very well how transient a professional career can be and I am quite aware that mine is likely to be on the shorter end even if I am careful. Ryoma, on the other hand, is likely to have one much longer and I support his focus on his career for now. He has only just entered the professional circuit – of course he isn’t considering a time without tennis yet.”

“Kunimitsu-” Ryoma began with a frown, but Kunimitsu nodded his head in understanding of his frustration and squeezed at his shoulder. This wasn’t a case of kid-gloves and Tezuka would make sure Ryoma was aware of that.

“Just because playing tennis was how we met – how our worlds collided – and just because playing tennis is our current focus, that does not mean no thought has been put into our future.”

“You can’t just cover for him,” Nanjiroh pointed out.

Tezuka nodded. “I would never seek to do that. Even if I tried, Ryoma is too outspoken himself to allow it and that willfulness is one of the many aspects I appreciate in him.”

“We’ve talked about where we’d live,” Ryoma cut in then, straightening his shoulders and allowing Tezuka’s hand to fall away. “Whether Germany, America or Japan would be best. And we’ve talked about it for both tennis and for when we’re not playing tennis anymore. Tezuka’s taking online courses and plans on getting a physical therapy degree at some point. We talk about more than just tennis; there’s just no point in telling that to someone who doesn’t want us to be together.”

Nanjiroh froze at that, his unaffected demeanor falling away as he started at his son with fresh eyes. It took a moment and several blinks, but the changes and growth he had been privy to and mostly overlooked on a daily basis suddenly seemed so great and the son who used to lock himself in his room until Nanjiroh dragged him out for a match suddenly seemed so much further away from the teenager sitting in front of him in the here and now. He remembered the day Ryoma had come up to him, fire in his eyes, demanding a match only to show a gameplay that had, ever so slightly, begun to change.

With glassy eyes, Nanjiroh studied Tezuka next, the kid responsible for that change and so many others. This was suddenly the man responsible for his son’s growth – and growth not just in tennis, as he’d always relegated it to.

“You’ve been taking my son away from me since he was twelve,” he realized with a small, nostalgic smile.

Tezuka shook his head. “We’ve just been growing together that long. He will always be your son, no matter how our relationship evolves.” While it wasn’t obvious on his face or in his voice, Tezuka hesitated at that admission, recognizing the light in Rinko’s and Nanjiroh’s eyes as they caught on to the meaning. It was something he and Ryoma had discussed as a part of their future, but nothing they had planned on for a few years yet, still. All the same, Tezuka turned in his chair so he was facing Nanjiroh directly and, with his hands on his thighs, bowed his head and asked, “Therefore, I hope you will treat me well in the future.”

Nanjiroh narrowed his widened eyes, studying the top of Tezuka’s head as he continued to bow. “Tch,” he acquiesced, but nodded his head.

“With that resolved,” Rinko smiled and took a bite of mashed potatoes, signaling the situation resolved enough for the meal to commence, mentions of thankfulness forgotten in the overwhelming relief that had settled at the table. There was enough to be thankful for in that, alone.

“Admittedly, Nanjiroh might be a bit disappointed about Tezuka being a boy,” Rinko said after several minutes of silence as everyone focused on the food before them.

All three men paused and looked at her in combinations of concern and confusion only for her to smile fondly. “His big dream was a big family, after all. He’s always talked about grandkids.”

Ryoma choked on the food that had already been in his mouth and reached for his soda, chugging it down to hide the way the red traveled along his cheeks and across his ears. Tezuka cleared his throat, the heat of a flush in his face, as well, before muttering a quick, “That conversation might best be saved for a future date,” and turning back to his meal.

Ryoma’s face grew even redder, Rinko smiled and Nanjiroh chuckled and, as silverware clattered against china, Tezuka smiled to himself around a bite of turkey. He could kind of see why Americans seemed to enjoy this day so much.


End file.
